Cold Hands
by Fafsernir
Summary: He wanted to take her hand so badly, but he was very aware of exactly how cold his hands were. She didn't care.


_Hiya! It's been a while, University has taken all my time and my computer's charger gave up so I couldn't post! But I'm back with another short fic! ;)_

 _It's based on the song_ Les mains Froides _by Oldelaf (it means cold hands and it's a French song, so if you want a translation of the lyrics, I can send you one) which is just a sweet song about a man thinking about how cold his hands are while he's with his girlfriend. He keeps saying he has cold hands, but that she doesn't mind and takes them in hers anyway. I found it adorable, and totally something that Chandler could obsess over._

 _It's set in Season 5, while their relationship is still secret, but Joey knows._

* * *

It was cold and already snowing a lot when Chandler made it to the street. He could feel his awfully cold hands through the fabric of his pants, as he had put them in his pockets, in the hope of warming them up. It hadn't, and his thighs were cold too, now. Maybe he hadn't put on his best pants, to be honest. Was that a hole in his pocket? Did he have a hole in a hole? He chuckled at the thought, then concentrated on walking, and looking around. He finally spotted Monica who was scanning the place, looking as beautiful as ever. He still couldn't believe his luck, most of the time.

"Hey, what are you doing here?" Chandler grinned when he stopped besides her.

"We said we'd meet here." She rolled her eyes, but she was smiling.

He offered his arm but she didn't look very happy with that, and took his hand away from his pocket – the one without a hole – to entwine their fingers.

"My hands are cold," he pouted. He wanted to take her hand so badly, but he was very aware of exactly how cold his hands were, so he didn't want her to feel the same.

"I can finally take it, I take it," she answered.

He would have argued, but he liked the feeling too much to risk losing it. She started to walk, rather fast, and he guessed that she was cold but didn't want to admit it. He was freezing and walking slowly. She didn't complain, dragging him by his hand that she didn't let go of.

They walked to a quiet pub, sitting at the back, and talked softly, enjoying the time they could have away from the others. They didn't have to pretend they were simply friends here. They could be together, they could hold hands and kiss.

"See, I like hot teas. I mean, have you seen the weather outside? I'm telling you, hot tea is the best. You're cold, but then you order this and, oh God, you just feel better." He was totally babbling about how hot tea was great, but she was smiling and he couldn't stop himself. He loved that smile too much to stop talking, no matter how stupid what he was saying sounded. Her eyes were shining, and even when he looked away from them, he could see the blue staring at him.

He eventually stopped, because it was getting embarrassing for him – he had talked a _lot_ about tea – and just stared at Monica as she got up to pay.

He expected her to come sit back with him. Instead, she took his hands, bringing him up, and kissed him for a long time, one hand scratching the back of his head while the other still held on his cold fingers dearly. He kissed her back and managed to move afterwards only because she was dragging him again.

Chandler didn't protest, following her docilely, amazed that despite his hands still being so damn cold, she still kept them in hers. Maybe it was more than just his hands that he was amazed she would keep. This whole thing was crazy, he wasn't even sure how it had happened. They were in a relationship, Joey knew about them and, even if the others didn't, just thinking that Joey knew, that someone else – someone he considered as his best friend, not just a colleague – knew about them sometimes made it more real. They were taking a big risk by going out together, but she seemed as happy as he was to have dared to cross the line.

"Isn't Rachel home?" Chandler asked as they were climbing the stairs to their apartments building but that Monica didn't seem to let go of his hand – which was still way too cold.

"Nope," she answered, turning to him only once they were in apartment 20.

They kissed lazily for a while, then she told him to sit on the couch. He put his hands in his pockets again, thinking that they would never get warm again, and disturbed because he usually had rather warm hands. Why was he even thinking about his hands when such a beautiful woman was in the same room and he was clearly going to have sex with her? Sometimes, he just hated his mind, but he really couldn't focus on anything else than how cold his damn hands were, and how Monica probably wouldn't like them on her body.

He turned his attention to his girlfriend when he heard some music, smiling as Billy Paul's _Me and Mrs. Jones_ filled the air. He listened to the lyrics, oblivious to Monica who was moving around him, cleaning something and doing something else – he really wasn't paying much attention.

"You want some?" she asked and he finally looked at her, smiling instantly.

She was showing him a bottle of wine, almost empty, and he nodded. "Not much, though."

She didn't listen to him, handing him a full glass that he didn't even have time to taste because she kissed him, and he suddenly couldn't concentrate on anything else than her lips on his, and how good and natural it all felt.

Monica had probably thought that she could hold back her desire enough to have time for a glass, but apparently she didn't succeed. And he was in no better state, kissing her back and almost spilling his glass. She took the glass away from his hands and led him to her bedroom, both grinning at each other. They kissed again, hands roaming over clothes or on hair, until he pushed her against the bed, following her as she fell backwards with a laugh. They chuckled, Chandler lying on his back next to her.

"I rather liked where this was initially going," she admitted as they were still smiling at the ceiling.

He looked at her, opening his mouth. He was about to say something, probably a badly timed joke, but she seemed to feel it as she smiled and rolled on her side, half-lying on him to turn the light next to him off. She kissed a spot she perfectly knew he liked under his ear, and he shuddered, his hands automatically going on her back.

"I..." He almost moaned when she whispered in his ear. What did she want to say at a time like this? "I really like you," she continued.

He groaned because of her breath against his ear, and the words flipped his heart. He wanted to tell her that he loved her, because he did. And deep down, he knew she did too, but the words scared him. If he spoke them, then it would be really true, and they would definitely be involved in a relationship – although they totally already were – and he wasn't ready for that yet. He wasn't ready because he was so sure he would screw everything up.

He realized he had opened his mouth to reply something, but he suddenly wasn't sure what to reply anymore.

She didn't seem to mind as she trailed kisses down his neck, then up his jaw, to finally let their lips touch again. He melted at the contact, kissing her back as eagerly as he dared to. She was just so perfect in his eyes, he often was afraid to do something wrong.

They simply kissed for a while, until she started unbuttoning his shirt, and his hands settled on her lower back.

When his still cold hands touched her burning skin, she shivered, and slightly flinched, but said nothing, so he continued, moving his hands to cup her breast under her bra. The sigh he got in response was enough for him to realize that no matter how cold his hands would get, she would always welcome them on her skin.

Again, maybe he took it on another level. Maybe he hoped that no matter what he did – freaking out being the most likely thing that could mess their relationship up – she would stick around.

Monica ground her hips against his, silently telling him to get busy with more urging problems – she usually could tell when his mind was elsewhere – and he finally forgot about his cold hands and his doubts.


End file.
